


Something to Keep

by Eldabe



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldabe/pseuds/Eldabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto has lost so many. This is for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Honour the Dead, Cherish the Living](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7271) by remuslives23. 



> You should read the [inspiration fic](http://remuslives23.dreamwidth.org/132933.html) first, as this is only a companion piece.
> 
> Originally posted on my livejournal [here](http://eldarwannabe.livejournal.com/111058.html).

For the first one, Ianto Jones was young and emotional, a bit stupid and _utterly_ broke. 

He went the day after the funeral, her carefully preserved face still fresh in his mind, and he had pictures, sure, but he needed something else. He wanted odes and poetry, maybe a heart even. The picture in his head wasn't totally clear, but it was going to be on his arm, on his bicep. That was were all the heroes had their important tattoos in the films. This was important. 

Of course, when he got there he didn't have enough money, and tattoos weren't exactly something you could put in a pocket and walk away with if you were quiet enough. 

Ianto wanted her whole name, but he bargained with them for two letters and then couldn't figure out how to abbreviate her name anyway. "C.J." felt a little stupid. So he asked them to make it nice at least, a curvy "C" in a pretty script, thick on his upper arm where he'd be able to see it once he took off the bandage. 

It hurt, but not as much as losing her, and this was something he could _keep_. 

~-~-~-~

He was driving the lorry to Cardiff tomorrow, and Lisa was already packed neatly away, so drugged up that she wouldn't wake for hours yet. He had to figure out a way for her to be awake and not in screaming pain, and he was going to figure it out soon, he just had to try a few more things. Mix and match the medication, but carefully, so he was studying a few medical texts in between packing up the flat and making phone calls and trying to recall anything, anything at all about Torchwood Three. 

But he couldn't turn on the light in the warehouse or they'd know he was there, and so he couldn't read, but he couldn't sleep either, too wired on coffee and adrenaline and naked fear. 

When Ianto left, he checked the locks three times, and then once more. But no one was coming here anyway, and it was too late for constables or lost tourists. 

He kept walking until he found a place, and it wasn't until he was looking at designs of butterflies and skulls that he realized he had no idea what to get. He had the money, but not a vision, not for Chris and Rebecca and Sandy and Raj and Alf and Lenore and Grace and Erin and George and Luke and (oh god) the ones he never even met, would never know now. He didn't even have space on his whole body for all of them. 

It was just so big, too big, he couldn't hold it in his head with his plans and lists and worry. 

So he asked for a tiny tattoo, showing them with his fingers, so small that no one would notice until they were close. It would be something for Lisa to find, and they could mourn together, because she would understand, would know because he told her the story of his first one.

"And on my ankle, please" he added, pointing, because he remembered how much it hurt the first time, and he decided that this should throb for hours. He would feel it the whole drive to Cardiff, and he would feel it still, all seven hundred and ninety-six, when he finally found a way to meet Captain Harkness.

~-~-~-~

The next time, when he found the place in Cardiff, he finally had the money and the picture in his head, petals perfectly formed where her hand would have rested. 

He just had to think of Lisa, and he knew.


End file.
